


Left Alone

by Callaeidae3



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftermath of trauma, Alternate Universe, Angst, Attempted Murder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gen, Head Injury, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Keith (Voltron) Whump, M/M, broken ribs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21968440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callaeidae3/pseuds/Callaeidae3
Summary: After sustaining several injuries from a fall down a cliff, Keith stumbles out onto a road winding through the mountain ranges. Shiro, who almost hits him with his motorbike, can't shake the feeling that something really bad has happened.As sixteen-year-old Keith deals with recovering, Shiro and policewoman Colleen Holt become caught up in the investigation of the incident.
Relationships: Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Keith & Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 193
Kudos: 482





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The attempted murder involves Keith being pushed off a cliff. There's no violence involved beforehand.
> 
> If you'd rather skip the scene leading up to it (first scene: tw: implied/referenced child abuse - subtle emotional abuse, signs of scheming the attempted murder), skip to the first scene break (horizontal line)

Keith should have seen it coming.

The signs were all there – the extra looks he received that week, the whispers (quieter, more decisive than usual), the depleting of the food that was his to eat (or rather, how it never got replenished when his foster mother went to the supermarket yesterday). The way his foster sister stopped clicking her tongue whenever he did something that annoyed them.

The way his foster father looked stricken, and though he often cast worried glances Keith’s way, kept quiet and never did say (or do) anything.

The day his fate is decided is a week before Christmas. The plan is put into motion exactly a week after that decision is made.

“Hey,” his foster sister says. She never uses his name. “Mum and Dad and me, yeah? We decided to give you a Christmas present.”

 _Oh. That’s odd._ Keith averts his eyes. “Thanks.”

“We’ll give it to you later on though. If you’re good.”

Keith nods.

He doesn’t see the smirk on his foster sister’s face to be concerned about it.

The family are travelling to their foster father’s family’s house for Christmas. His foster mother asks Keith not to take too much stuff. There’s not much for him to take anyway. Seeing as there’s four of them in a small car already, there’s nothing strange about that.

There’s nothing too strange about any of it really.

Not the locking of the house, and the ominous feeling that Keith won’t be coming back here again.

Not the way his foster mother avoids looking his way.

Not the tight grip his foster father has on the steering wheel.

At least, it would’ve been strange if Keith hadn’t neglected to keep his guard up.

But there’d come a point in his switching back and forth between all sorts of different foster homes – a point where he gave up trying to defend himself. It’s too tiring, too draining, keeping himself on his toes, trying to figure out how to navigate the next groundless accusation or churning of emotional hurt.

It’s a grave mistake that almost costs him his life.

The family take an innocent stop on the roadside about halfway to their destination. The stop is a lookout, and it offers a beautiful view over the forest – over where they’re about to throw Keith off a cliff into.

Keith doesn’t know about the latter part until his foster sister exchanges a nod with his foster mother and gives him a nudge.

“How about we give you your Christmas present early?” she says.

Keith frowns. Something about her tone is off.

A van drives past. They probably just look like a family enjoying the view.

Before he can question it, his foster mother huffs. “You said you wanted to be alone, didn’t you?” She looks around, makes sure the road is clear – _makes sure there aren’t any witnesses._

His foster father looks away.

Hasty footsteps.

A hand plants itself firmly on his back and pushes.

* * *

His memory empties out there.

When Keith comes to, he’s lying half way down the hill, limbs caught in the branches of a tree. He can’t recall how he got here. His body, however, certainly can.

He aches. His head throbs, and he’s so dizzy and nauseous, he can’t help it when he throws up. He groans. Scratches on his arms sting. His shoulder pulls and aches terribly. One shoe falls off, disappears among the bushes below. Keith stares after it, disoriented.

“Sh-shoe…”

Why does his voice sound so thin?

“Where’d ya go, shoe? I want…” _I want to go with you._

Somehow he manages to get down from the tree without harming himself. He’s not sure how. When it becomes apparent that his head hurts even more, and there’s a sharp shifting pain in his ribs – that _is_ at least one of his ribs – then he realises that he’s not sure of anything.

Keith tilts his head up to the sky. His eyes struggle to focus on the branches of the tree above him. _Did I fall?_ He staggers sideways, and falls again.

Rolls.

Down. Down.

Towards a winding corner in the road.

Blacks out again.

Wakes up in the arms of someone clad in black. They have the blurriest face Keith has ever seen. They sound worried about it. No, about him.

_Why are they worried about me?_

Something is wrapped around his foot. It feels like the branches of the tree are pressing against either side of his ankles – a splint, he’d see, if he could move his head. But the person holding him won’t let him see. Not that Keith can find the energy or will to move anyway.

Everything hurts.

The sirens that grow loud and then dim and then gradually grow louder and louder are painful in his ears. Keith whimpers. The person gives him a comforting rub on the shoulder – the one that doesn’t feel like it was dislocated and then expertly put back into place again.

“They’ll stop in a moment,” reassures the person. A kind voice. Warm. “Just hang in there a little longer.”

True to the stranger’s word, the sirens do stop. Keith lets out a shuddering breath of relief. He feels some tension in his forehead ease. The person rubs his good shoulder again.

Words are being spoken. Keith’s not the one being spoken to, so he zones out after the man gives his name. But then Keith’s the one being asked questions, not the kind voice named Shiro-something, and it’s distressing.

He doesn’t want to answer them.

He doesn’t like people crowding around him like this.

Is he in trouble? Is that why he’s being asked so many questions?

But he doesn’t know the answer to them, doesn’t know how to rate his pain, doesn’t know where it hurts. It hurts everywhere, and if he says he’s in pain then they’ll think he’s exaggerating and…

He’s scared.

Even more scared when the strong, warm arms holding him steady are replaced by strange sterile sounds and non-comforting tones of voices. The smell of leather and road and exhaust is replaced by too clean, something alcoholic,… something of some kind of taste he doesn’t have the chance to identify.

It’s confusing, and scary. The pain doesn’t dull until his awareness fades, but even then the ache feels rooted in his bones.

He casts his mind to the person who had held him on the roadside. He’d felt safe. Keith keeps that memory in his mind and holds it there as unawareness pulls him under.

* * *

Shiro stands on the side of the road by his motorbike long after the ambulance has gone. One car even pulled over and asked if he was stranded.

 _No,_ he’d wanted to say. _I just can’t get that kid out of my mind._

The teen had been staggering onto the road – a 100km/hr road, on which people usually speed even faster than that – unawares, limping, bleeding, _broken…_ Shiro had barely seen him in time to swerve. His heart is still beating a little too fast just thinking about it.

There’s no houses out here. It’s an open road that goes through the mountain ranges. There’s just forest until the farmlands start a hundred kilometres away. Was the kid lost? How did he even get out here?

Shiro tilts his head with the thought, brow creasing against his helmet. He lowers his visor so no passing vehicle ends up seeing his stricken expression and asking if something’s wrong with his motorbike again.

The kid looked about mid-teens. Maybe fifteen, or sixteen? He’d had no backpack on him, and there was no sweat covering his back to suggest that’d been recently wearing one. His clothes hadn’t looked suitable for hiking – okay for a bush walk where there’s a track, but not for bush-bashing. There’s no track out here. The weather’s about to turn too.

Unprepared for the environment and the weather.

Alone.

In the middle of nowhere.

No equipment.

Not old enough to legally drive, and no vehicles sitting around anyways.

Shiro highly doubts the kid was out hiking. Could he have run away?

It replays in his mind again, vivid, too vivid. The shape stumbling out onto the road, Shiro’s vision whiting out in alarm, the screech of his sudden brake, turning around and seeing the kid lying crumpled on the road, unmoving.

Like Shiro – or _someone_ – hit him, only there’s no gashes and broken bones that would be more typical of being hit and hurt by the road. The injuries didn’t look road-borne. At least, not from what Shiro’s comprehensive first aid check had shown him.

A head injury, a dislocated shoulder, a couple of broken ribs, a fractured ankle…

And an unforgiving sense that there’s something profoundly _wrong_ about the whole picture.

Shiro lets out a bewildered breath. There’s an edge of fear in it. His arms feel unsteady when he puts his hands on the handles and leans into them. Shiro straightens up, takes a deep breath, tries to loosen the muscles in his arms a bit.

His first thought, once his head has cleared up ten minutes of riding later, is that something happened to that kid that shouldn’t have. It’s not his place to figure it out, though – the police will do that. It’s not his place to make sure the kid’s okay – the doctors and nurses at the hospital will do that.

He lets himself get lost in the motions of riding through the mountain ranges. Something tells Shiro that he’ll be involved in the figuring out as much as they are.


	2. Chapter 2

When Shiro arrives home that night, he feels out of sorts. The weather had been great. The ride had been good, in spite of the number of caravans and trucks and slow travelling vehicles he’d gotten stuck behind in places. The food he’d had at the gas station while waiting out the dangerous low light of the setting sun had also been good.

But Shiro… Shiro doesn’t feel good.

He can’t shake the feeling that’s settled over him since almost hitting that kid. Adrenaline stays in his system – or the aftermath of it, at least. Shiro’s never had to call emergency services before, much less for a strangely injured teen collapsed on an open road out in the middle of nowhere.

 _I could’ve hit him_.

_I almost hit him._

_I could’ve killed him._

That’s what stays with him the most. On second thought, though, it’s not.

What stays with him the most is how there’s no logical explanation for why the kid was out there, alone, with no backpack, or how he was injured and where he came from and –

 _It’s not my job to figure it out,_ Shiro tells himself as he wheels his motorbike into the small garage. There’s just enough room for him to walk and park the bike alongside his partner’s car.

For some reason, Shiro is anxious to know what happened. To make sure the kid’s okay. To know that whatever happened has a logical explanation to it after all. To know everything’s fine.

His gut tells him everything is not fine.

Shiro takes off his helmet. Closes the garage door. Takes off his riding boots and trudges inside. The lights are on inside, and the atmosphere is comforting. Battle sounds of Adam’s favourite video game are loud in the living room. Familiar.

“I’m home,” Shiro says as he walks in, as though Adam would’ve have heard the bike. It doesn’t feel like home somehow.

Adam shoots a glance over his shoulder. “Hey. How’d the ride go?”

“Yeah, good.”

“Not too many holiday makers out?”

“Hmm.”

At Shiro’s distracted tone, the battle scene on the TV pauses. Adam lowers the controller and turns around. He watches Shiro’s expression, his body language. “You okay?”

Shiro tugs off his riding gloves. The corner of his mouth pulls down. “I… I almost hit someone.”

Adam stills. “What happened?”

“It wasn’t even in town. Happened out in the Ranges. Came around this corner and this kid walked out of the bush onto the road right in front of me. If I’d seen him a split-second later, I’d have hit him.”

“What the heck was he thinking?”

“He wasn’t.”

“Yeah, obviously.”

Shiro sets down the gloves on the table. “No, as in…” He hates thinking about it. “He wasn’t _there._ And I’m not meaning ‘on drugs’ not there. He’d hit his head, I think. He was hurt. Injured. Had, like...at least a couple of broken ribs, a-and…”

“Do you think someone else hit him?” Adam asks slowly.

“No. I don’t know. Maybe?”

That had also been on Shiro’s mind as he’d processed the whole situation. But there was far too much doubt surrounding that, and it all came back to the nature of his injuries not seeming typical for someone being hit.

Especially on a road with vehicles going at great speeds.

Especially considering said road had too many travellers at this time of year for _someone_ not to have noticed. Which meant that the kid had to have sustained those injuries in the bush.

By why was he in the bush, alone, with no equipment –

Hands on Shiro’s shoulders. Shiro blinks. Adam’s standing in front of him, concerned.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Shiro wants to lie and say he is. He’s not the one who had been taken away in the ambulance. He’s not the one he held in his arms, trying to keep as calm and reassured and comfortable as someone injured and alone and confused could be.

Wordlessly, Adam wraps his arms around Shiro’s shoulders. Shiro swallows, grimaces.

No. He’s not okay.

Later that night, when Shiro finally attempts to sleep, the scene replays. The confused, scared gleam in the teen’s unfocused eyes won’t leave his mind. The unconscious cry of pain he’d given when Shiro relocated his dislocated shoulder echoes in his ears.

 _What happened?_ is the question that repeats on loop throughout it all.

* * *

_A week later_

A missed call from an unknown number and an important message. When Shiro wakes to find the message awaiting him is from the district hospital, he’s overcome with a weird profound sense of relief.

A couple of hours later, he finds himself navigating his way through hospital hallways. He gets lost and has to ask one of the passing nurses how to get to where he’s going. She gives him easy to follow directions – thankfully – and Shiro soon finds himself in the correct ward.

Beside the reception desk there, a police woman stands waiting. She looks up as Shiro enters and raises an eyebrow. “Takashi Shirogane?”

“Yes. I got a message this morning? I’m the one who called the ambulance last week. The callout to Old Mountain Road.”

The lady nods. “I’m Officer Colleen Holt. I was hoping you’d be able to give us your statement. Since you’re here, I’m gathering you’re fine with doing that now.”

Shiro does his best to recount all the details he can remember: the way the kid – Keith, he’s informed – had stepped out onto the open road in front of him; what he’d noticed of Keith’s injuries before the ambulance showed up; the lack of anyone, or _anything_ else nearby; and the misgivings that had haunted him all night long.

He’s asked a few other questions, which he answers as truthfully or as best as he can. The questioning is over with fairly quickly, and with nothing more he can add to help, the police woman stands and shakes his hand.

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Shirogane. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else I need from you.”

Shiro nods. “Will do.” He glances towards the open hospital room door across the corridor. “I…is it okay for me to see him?”

The lady regards him carefully for a moment. “I don’t see why not.”

“If he doesn’t want anyone around, then I understand. I’m pretty much a stranger, anyways.”

“No, you’re fine. He’s just a little… I don’t know. Hasn’t been all that co-operative, and it’s not just because of the medication he’s been given.”

“What do you mean?”

Officer Holt grimaces. “It’s complicated, the situation. Here’s the thing – his foster family reported him missing about the time you called for an ambulance, said he’d run away. We tried asking Keith about it, but he won’t say anything. Just keeps saying he doesn’t know. ‘ _I don’t know_.’ ‘ _I don’t know’_.” She lets out a tired sigh. “At this stage, it’s hard to determine if he genuinely does not know – or remember – or if he’s just trying to evade getting himself in trouble.”

Shiro frowns. “When you say he doesn’t know, what are you asking him?”

“We’re trying to determine if he did run away and, if so, why.”

Raising a hand, the police woman adjusts her cap. She glances at Shiro and raises an eyebrow. It doesn’t take much for Shiro to gather what she’s suggesting – that Keith may have had a good reason for deciding to run away.

“Anyways,” the lady says, “the family don’t want him back, apparently. So we’re going to have to figure out what’s happening with him after he’s released from here.”

“Did they really say that?”

“It was heavily implied. They had plenty of reasons why they weren’t coming to see the kid they’d reported missing: too far out of town, not enough money for medical check-ups and medication et cetera following him getting discharged, ‘he’s caused too much trouble for our family as it is’…”

Shiro’s chest feels tight. “Wow…”

“I’m telling you this in case he opens up to you. I don’t know how long you’re going to hang around here, but basically I’d appreciate it if you could let me know if he says something that might help us figure out exactly what’s the story here. It’ll help us figure out what to do with him. He’s got almost two years before he’s legally able to be out on his own.”

The way she says it makes it sound like Keith is a sort of hassle needing to be dealt with. Something time consuming where the people involved would rather be doing something else. Someone everyone’s tired of dealing with. Someone who is nothing more than a burden, or a case that could be solved a lot quicker if he’d just stop messing around.

Judging by the police woman’s tone, that’s not what she thinks of Keith or this situation, but her wording sure could be better. They’re standing not far away from the open door of the room Keith’s in. What if he heard those words?

Shiro’s pretty sure that an injured, troubled teen isn’t going to be feeling good after hearing words such as those.

It only hits him as he’s walking into the room, what Officer Holt had said – _he’s got almost two years left before he’s able to be out on his own._ Keith is sixteen, then. Shiro finds himself prompted to worry somehow. The duration until he’s out of the foster care system seems too long. Too…harmful.

Unable to figure it out, Shiro sets the concern aside and moves around the curtain half drawn around the bed.

Bandages. Messy black hair and wary eyes.

Shiro gives a faulty smile. “Hi.”

Fingers tighten and pull the hospital blanket covering them further towards themselves. The cast encasing one foot is revealed.

A nurse introduces him properly, though follows up with ‘the young man who saved you’.

Keith blinks. His gaze flicks between watching Shiro’s face and the nurse’s.

With an awkward half-smile, half-grimace, the nurse excuses himself and gives rescuer and the rescued some space.

Shiro sits in the chair sitting by the bed. He and Keith have a staring competition. Keith wins.

“You look like you’re hiding,” Shiro remarks. “They been asking you too many questions?”

Keith clutches the blanket a little tighter.

It’s not fair, really. Recovering from an ordeal that could’ve ended up life threatening very easily, dealing with the knowledge that his foster family don’t want him back, dealing with doctors and nurses and now police officers prodding him and asking countless questions… and Keith’s only form of getting away from it is via hiding under the blanket.

Then Shiro remembers the broken ribs, and remembers the ankle that’s now bound in a cast, and realises it’s made even worse since he can’t curl up or move into a position that doesn’t leave him feeling so exposed.

Shiro’s been where Keith is – he’s been the person in the bed. Not this exact bed in this exact room, but he’s been a kid in a hospital bed in another city. The problems with his arm are better now, thanks to that stay, but he’d absolutely hated everything about being there. Shiro can’t deny that being inside a hospital again makes him uncomfortable because of those memories.

Looking at Keith, he’s reminded of those weeks painfully clearly.

Some empathy must show in Shiro’s expression, for Keith daringly lowers the blanket down to his chest. Trusting Shiro with full view of his face – of his own expression. Shiro can see now why Keith had wanted to hide his expression.

It’s wavering.

Nervously, Keith glances at the corner of the curtain. Listens through it. Looks back at Shiro. Wariness and fear and exhaustion and frustration bleed into the atmosphere.

Shiro doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Too many people must be asking similar questions too many times.

Distress. “They keep insisting I ran,” Keith whispers.

He speaks as though he’s scared anyone but Shiro will hear him. His gaze flicks to the door, as alert as the pain medication and tiredness will allow him. Keith’s mouth wobbles.

“I didn’t.”

Before Shiro can ask more, the nurse returns. Keith skilfully masks his stress and reassumes as neutral an expression as he can muster. Shiro frowns. Keith keeps his eyes trained on Shiro's face, as though silently pleading for him – if anyone – to believe him.

 _‘You saw me,’_ it’s like he’s saying. _‘You saw me. It didn’t look to you like I was in the middle of running away, did it? You don’t think I’m bad too, do you?’_

Shiro doesn’t know him. Keith could be trusting him, or he could be playing him. But if Keith were playing him, by rights he should have enough acting ability to play everyone else too – there wouldn’t be any need for him to be this wary, this nervous, this… distressed.

_“What’s wrong?”_

_“What happened out there, Keith?”_

_“Is there something you’re afraid of? Is that why you won’t speak up?”_

Shiro asks none of these questions. He doesn’t ask anything.

The nurse frowns at the silence Keith is giving and raises an eyebrow in exasperation at Shiro. “Don’t take it personally. He’s like this with everyone.”

Shiro’s brow creases. _But he just spoke to me?_

The nurse exits the room again.

The blanket drops, and the hands that were clutching it are now urgently reaching for Shiro. Shiro turns back to Keith, alarmed.

 _What’s…?_ Shiro mouths.

Keith’s gaze is intense. Stricken. Pained. Back to that same distressed look. “Did you see them? Are they looking for me?”

Shiro can barely hear him. “Who?” He asks. Respecting Keith’s urgency and need for privacy, Shiro keeps his voice equally low and light.

“ _Them._ ”

It can’t be anyone here. Or anyone who Keith has come into contact with between now and the incident. But how is Shiro supposed to know who?

Keith must see it – the moment _‘foster family’_ registers in Shiro’s mind as they who Keith’s referring to as ‘them’. He tugs on Shiro’s sleeve. Winces. Chokes on an anxiety-laden breath.

Shiro isn’t prepared for the words he hears.

“They tried to kill me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Egh, sorry for the wait! Thanks heaps to everyone who's left kudos and comments!! <3

Shiro just stares. Keith’s not prepared for that reaction.

He’d been fully anticipating – _fearing –_ invalidation. Perhaps a scoff, or the brief lift of a humouring smile. At least some kind of dismissal of the weight of the words Keith’s trying to convey.

But there’s none of that.

It’s just Shiro, sitting there. Staring. With a stunned…no, astonished…no… _bewildered_ look in his eyes.

Shiro clears his throat. “I…”

Something flashes in Shiro’s gaze. His brow furrows, concern lighting his expression.

Keith waits, albeit tensely.

“You told the police this, right?” Shiro says finally. “Officer Holt? She seems like she’d listen.”

“No.”

“…’no’ to which part?”

Keith feels cornered. He doesn’t know why, but he does. It makes him curl up as much as he can manage with a broken leg and broken ribs and a bed that doesn’t allow him much room to move around much. It’s about the same size as the one he’d had to sleep on at the foster family’s house, but somehow it feels smaller.

Without any answer given, the silence stretches out. Precious time passes. Keith’s aware that it’s too late for real validation now. He’s taken too long to answer, which means he must be stalling or searching for another detail of another to pull…

At least, that’s the sort of reaction he usually gets. The police officers who have been around here are sick and tired of this waiting game. They’re wanting to get this over and done with, but all Keith can answer is –

“I don’t know.”

_I don’t know if I can trust you enough to be as honest as I want to be._

_I don’t know if my words will be interpreted correctly._

_I don’t know if you’ll hear me out._

Shiro glances out the door. Keith feels resignation settle over him. He’s mentally preparing for Shiro to announce he’s leaving. He’s raising his walls again. Steeling himself. Trying to fix that fake “I’m fine” scowl back on his face.

But Shiro doesn’t leave. 

“Keith,” he says quietly. There’s respect in his tone. Understanding. “Do you feel unsafe with the idea of telling the police officers what you remember happening?”

The whimper is involuntary. Desperate. Keith hates it. He hates the way his mouth wobbles even more, the betrayal of it. Shiro reads the answer without forcing Keith to speak it verbally.

“Do you feel safe enough to tell me?”

Keith doesn’t take his eyes off Shiro’s. Just in case he misses something, just like he did in the days leading up to his injury. His near death. His _should have been_ death. As far as he can see, there’s no ill intentions or anything that speaks ‘invalidation’ in Shiro’s expression or body language.

He wants to trust him.

His brain, locked in a scary state of survival, pleads him not to trust anyone.

“It’s okay if you’re not sure,” Shiro reassures, and it’s the first time Keith’s been told that. Shiro doesn’t realise that, however, and continues without taking much notice. “If you think you’re okay with telling me, you can, okay? I… I don’t know how much I can help, but I think you need to talk to _someone_ about. You need to be able to put your confidence – or at least part of it – in someone’s ability to help you.”

_The foster homes were supposed to help me,_ Keith wants to say. He doesn’t. _They didn’t._

“If you don’t think you’ll be able to tell Officer Holt anything directly, would it help if you tell me and then I pass it on to her? Would you want to try that?”

_‘I don’t know’_ is what immediately falls on Keith’s tongue, but this time he doesn’t speak it. His hesitancy speaks more of a ‘maybe’. Unconsciously, his fingers dig into the blanket fabric.

Shiro is patient. Non-pressuring. “You said they tried to kill you.” The second to last word is said is with great reluctance. “Did they…did they give you these injuries?”

The doctors have already assessed his injuries. Keith’s already said he fell. The doctors know he fell, and if there had been any physical harm done to him before he was pushed off the cliff, Keith’s not sure. His memory is patchy.

“They didn’t,” Keith murmurs.

He braces himself for the invalidation to follow – the confusion, then the sigh that says that Keith’s trying to make things out to be worse than they actually are. Just like every time before that Keith’s asked for help.

No one believes he’s hurting when he says he’s hurting.

He’ll lie and say he’s fine, and he gets ignored.

He’ll tell the truth and say he’s not feeling good, and they say it’s not that bad.

Always the same old invalidation.

Keith hates how desperate he is for Shiro to be someone who doesn’t invalidate him.

“You got hurt in the bush, then?” Shiro asks.

Keith clenches his hands. “Hmm.”

“Did they try killing you by leaving you out in the bush on your own? Did they ditch you?”

Shiro’s questions are all simple yes and no questions. There’s no pressure for Keith to find words and the right wording. No expectation that he phrase things perfectly. Just simply asking, _is this how it was? Is this how it was for you?_

“I…” Keith trails off. There’s a shuffle in the hallway that makes him flinch, but no one enters. He forces himself to breathe steadily. “Th-they pushed me. And then left me.”

“I don’t understand.”

Horror sinks into Keith’s stomach. Is this where Shiro stops trying to believe him?

“Sorry,” Shiro says, seeing the panic on Keith’s face. “I mean, I don’t understand why they’re saying you ran away when…”

“They think I ran away, ran into the bush, fell on my own. That it’s my own fault. That they had nothing to do with this. They don’t want nothing to do with this. They don’t want nothing to do with me.”

The words escape him. The horror is still in his stomach, only this time it’s horror stemming from the realisation that he already does trust Shiro. Keith doesn’t want to trust Shiro. No, he does. He does, but…

Shiro is still. “So…they…pushed you, and you were in the bush, and you fell. And…since they tried to kill you, and you ended up coming away from there hurt, but alive,…they decided to cover themselves by accusing you of running away? Am I… am I getting the picture right here?”

In that moment, Keith becomes an owl.

Shiro runs a hand over his face, rests it over his mouth as he processes what Keith’s wide-eyed expression is confirming. He lets out a sharp exhale. “What the heck?”

And then, “Why are you trusting me?”

Keith doesn’t know how to answer that.

“Why not Officer Holt? What you just told me is true, right? Why are you not telling her? She can protect you. Get people to protect you.”

“I don’t… I…”

Shiro is stressed, confused. But he waits.

Keith winces. His head throbs. He tilts his head, presses the heel of one hand against his forehead. “Um, sirens.”

“What?”

“…sirens?”

It’s then that Keith realises where he’s basing this unwilling trust – on the faint recollection of being held in Shiro’s arms, of his distress being recognised when the sound of the ambulance sirens made his head feel like it was splitting apart…of Shiro telling him that the sirens would stop soon, and true to Shiro’s word they did.

Shiro had promised that the sirens would stop, and they had.

Eventually, Shiro makes the same connection that Keith does. “Okay. Okay, that’s me, but…” He bows his head, rubs the back of his neck. Lifts his face back up to look Keith in the eye again. “Maybe it’s hard for you to talk to Officer Holt, but… do you mind if I tell her what you just told me?”

It feels like getting in trouble.

He doesn’t like it. But…

“Okay,” Keith whispers.

Shiro is open and honest, and that’s something Keith appreciates. He doesn’t put on an act, as far as Keith’s aware, and his apparent caring for Keith’s wellbeing seems genuine.

When Shiro gets up to leave, he promises to come back.

Though there’s no _when_ specified, Keith believes him.

* * *

When Shiro tells Colleen Holt what Keith said, the police woman frowns.

“He’s also extremely wary around strangers, it seems,” Shiro adds. “That kind of nervousness isn’t…” _Isn’t normal,_ he’s about to say, but Shiro doesn’t like the wording and the way that sounds.

Officer Holt considers the situation silently. She presses her lips together and frowns harder. Then, with a hum that concludes her train of thought, she asks, “Are you considering, at all, coming back?”

Shiro hesitates. “I mean, if it helps then…”

“You seem like a decent guy. I’ve noticed Keith has no one around, so if you’re willing to come back some time and keep Keith company for half an hour or an hour or so every now and then, I think he’d appreciate it. Might help us figure out what’s best for him too.”

There’s no denying the selfish relief Shiro feels. He’d hesitated at the thought of coming again in case people gave him weird – or rather, _concerned –_ looks. Shiro doesn’t want to come across as that kind of guy, because he’s not that kind of guy. He genuinely cares.

Maybe the fear of such accusations wouldn’t be so bad if his coming out to his family last month about being gay hadn’t been so badly received. There’s a reason why he didn’t go home for Christmas, and why he and Adam will be spending New Years by themselves tonight and tomorrow.

Shiro feels a fresh wave of guilt about keeping Adam from his family. Though it had been Adam’s choice to stay back with Shiro – and not force his partner to tag along to a family gathering when a recent family gathering of Shiro’s own had left raw wounds in his heart…

Officer Holt gives him a card with her contact details on it. “If you need to get in touch with me, do so.” She lowers her voice. “If something’s urgent, call me directly.”

The implication isn’t pleasant.

Shiro nods. “I will.”

He leaves the hospital with that ominous feeling returned to his veins. Adam notices before Shiro’s even gotten in the car. Shiro knows this because Adam doesn’t immediately start the car.

“So…?” Adam prompts after a minute of nothing.

Shiro flicks him an apologetic glance and returns to staring blankly out the window. “Sorry. I…”

How much is he allowed to tell Adam? It’s confidential, right? He trusts Adam not to go around telling people anything, though, and Officer Colleen Holt hadn’t given him any really specific warning about being silent about it, and –

“Hey, Takashi. What’s going on?”

This isn’t something Shiro’s able to process by himself.

“I met him,” Shiro says. “He says…he….”

Adam is still. The atmosphere plunges into something cold and grey and heavy with dread. Like Adam’s waiting for Shiro to tell him that the kid he almost hit the other day committed some terrible crime, one that Shiro’s decided to help him cover up or something.

Shiro tries again. “He’s a foster kid. He said it was his foster family who did that to him – who left him out there, in the ranges.” He turns to Adam. “He said they tried to kill him.”

Adam blinks slowly. His grip tightens on the steering wheel. “The police know about this?”

“They do now. But the foster family apparently are saying that Keith ran away. And no one’s come forward to say they saw anyone leave a teenager out in the middle of nowhere, and…”

The car starts. They’re driving out of the carpark. Waiting at the traffic lights, then turning down the wrong street and driving into town.

Shiro looks around in confusion. “Why are we…? Did you forget something at the optometrist?”

“Coffee,” Adam says. “We’re going to get coffee.”

“We have coffee at home.”

“Good coffee. Instant coffee ain’t gonna cut it, is it? If you still want to go out and watch the fireworks later, I think we’ll both enjoy it a bit more if you’d had time – and good enough coffee – to process everything that’s running through your mind right now.”

Shiro can’t argue with that.

But something feels so wrong about this. Maybe Shiro’s just unnerved by the weight of the situation Keith’s apparently in, or just come out of. Maybe he’s feeling anxious simply because he’s not feeling like himself right now. The town in buzzing with people getting hyped for the New Year, and the coffee Adam gets for them is good, and the op shop Shiro visits has a good blanket…

Back home, Shiro sets the blanket down on the couch. He sits down beside it, and Adam beside him.

“Why does it feel so wrong to be leaving Keith alone?” he asks numbly.

Adam leans back into the couch. “He’s not alone.”

“I know.”

“You’re worried. Aren’t you?”

Shiro finishes the coffee.

“You’re worried the family might try again?”

The words pierce through Shiro’s heart. The blanket sitting beside him isn’t enough for Keith to hide in. It’ll be better than what he’s got, but it can’t protect him from the strangers he fears or the questions that leave him looking cornered or ensure that the people who tried to kill him don’t try to kill him _again._

Not knowing what to do – not knowing what he _can_ do – Shiro gets up with a stressed sigh. He picks up the blanket. “I’ll go give this a wash, I guess.”

Adam takes a sip of his own coffee and watches Shiro go without a word.

The only witness of Adam’s quiet admitting aloud that he’s also now worried for Keith is his own reflection in the TV screen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter sure turned out more angsty than I anticipated haha. Thanks everyone for your kudos and comments!!

Tonight is New Year’s Eve. 11.39pm.

Keith watches as the clock ticks. Ticks. Ticks. Like a bomb. Like danger. Like his heartbeat, only his heart rate is faster than the clock he’s measuring it against right now.

He can’t hear the ticking now. His anxiety has him too on edge and listening past that sound for other sounds – unnatural sounds, or sounds that seem like they don’t belong. In particular, the sound of creeping footsteps, or footsteps that are calculatedly casual instead of the usual pace that the nurses and doctors around here keep.

Keith hates feeling like this. It wouldn’t be so bad if his leg wasn’t broken. He’s been given crutches – finally – but they’re not much use if the need arises for him to run. He keeps telling himself that he’s fine, that his foster family aren’t going to come here. They’re not going to come for him right here, right now.

Telling himself that does nothing for the anxiety.

It’s why he finds himself, ten minutes later, sneaking out the door.

He’s desperate. He knows that. If his wildly beating heart doesn’t give that away, the determination with which he pushes himself to move in spite of the pain he’s in sure does. He’s filled with absolute dread that he’s going to be caught by someone, but somehow, miraculously, he doesn’t.

The receptionist on this floor isn’t at the desk. Keith sees her coming back from the bathroom, but he disappears around a corner before she has a chance to see him.

A security guard wanders by. Keith slows to a still and forces himself to breathe silently. His ribs ache. His chest hurts. His palms are clammy and his uninjured leg is tired. When the security guard passes without having noticed Keith’s attempted at blending in with the shadows, Keith lets out a breath. His broken ribs throb.

Where he’s going exactly, he doesn’t actually know. Keith woke up in the room he just left. He woke up there and hasn’t left it since – not until now. All he knows is that he needs to find an escape from being trapped in there, needs to find a place to hide…

And the green-lit “EXIT” signs are about as good a direction as he’s got.

The exit signs don’t lead him to any technical exits. Instead, he finds himself hopping out onto the rooftop garden. Keith wonders if the hospital staff left the automatic doors unlocked for any patients wanting to see the fireworks. There’s no one out here, but that’s good.

Keith looks around the garden. He’s not looking for a firework-viewing spot, though; he’s looking for a spot to hide from them. Or, more specifically, a spot to hide from anyone who might use the sound of fireworks as cover to try another attempt on his life.

As he hobbles around, Keith stumbles. It’s hard to breathe. The air is far better out here than inside, but this physical exertion isn’t better. His ribs hurt _really bad._ It would be agony if not for the slight dulling of painkillers. He needs to rest, but he’s got to find a hiding spot first.

In the end, he doesn’t find one – it finds him instead.

One of Keith’s crutches catches on the edge of a low garden, and Keith trips. With his broken leg immobilised and useless, and his balance thrown off, there’s nothing he can do to stop himself falling.

He lands hard. On bark, thankfully. But it drives the breath out of him. Winded. He groans. Grimaces. Screws up his face in pain. Had he landed on his other side, he might’ve driven a broken rib into a lung.

There’s no getting up from here. Not for a while. Keith’s too much in pain, too exhausted, too… too shaky with muted panic. It’s too late, anyways. There’s a hedge right in front of his face, and the shadows it throws over him is enough to conceal him from view.

_Here…here will do._

It’s almost midnight anyway. The fireworks – the cover for gunfire – will be going off soon.

The bark scratches. An insect buzzes in his face. He stares at the shadowy hedge and forces himself to breathe through the pain. With a pained whimper, Keith stretches out one hand and grabs the handles of his crutches, one by one, and drags them over the bark into cover with him.

He lets his head drop onto the bark once that task is done.

Here will have to. He doubts he’ll be able to get up again for a while. If anything, at least he feels safer lying here than he did back in his hospital room.

That’s worth the pain and the exhaustion.

* * *

Shiro admittedly feels a little ridiculous pulling into the hospital carpark this close to midnight. Even more so with the relief he snatches the washed and dried blanket from the passenger seat, makes his way up to the right hospital floor and reaches Keith’s hospital room door before midnight actually comes.

The thought behind coming here right now had been a bit rash. But oh well, he’s here now.

Shiro had been worried that Keith might be afraid of the incoming fireworks – that’s his rational. Seeing as the hospital staff earlier hadn’t seemed to be the kind to listen to Keith, or allow him to confess if he might end up feeling unnerved by the fireworks, Shiro had felt even more compelled to come.

_It’s just a blanket,_ he argues with himself as he knocks on the door. _…and company, at a time where everyone else has company but Keith._

Adam had been tired and decided to go to bed early, New Years’ or not. Shiro’s glad he doesn’t have to feel hypocritical having left Adam without company because of that.

But Keith’s not in the room.

At all.

The inadequate blanket he’d been clutching earlier is abandoned on the bed.

Shiro blinks, confused. Out of breath. He didn’t think he’d make it in time to offer Keith the minor comfort of a better blanket to hide in. But he did, and now Keith’s not here…

He’s not sure what he should do. Now that he’s here and Keith isn’t.

“Ah, you’re the man who visited earlier!”

Shiro turns to see a nurse walking down the hallway towards him. He points to inside the room. “Is…this is the right room, right? For Keith? Um, I’m not sure of his last name.”

The nurse nods. “Yeah,” she says. “You remembered correctly.”

“Okay…well, I just came here to bring him this.” He raises the folded blanket in his hands. “I found this at a store while I was out earlier. I saw Keith finds some sense of security in being able to sort of hide in the blanket he’s got, so I thought he might like the comfort of having a better one to hide in? And…what with the fireworks. And New Years’. Thought he might like some company.”

“That’s kind of you.”

“But he’s not here.”

“What?”

“Keith’s not in there,” Shiro repeats. “Did he change rooms?”

The startled look on the nurse’s face tells him that no, Keith did not change rooms. She jogs forward and confirms with her own eyes what Shiro’s telling him.

“What…where…?” she pauses. Turns and jogs over to the receptionist. “You don’t happen to know of Keith Kogane’s whereabouts, do you?”

The receptionist frowns. “Should be in his room, shouldn’t he?”

“Should be, yes. But he’s not. He’s gone.”

The staff don’t know where he is. As soon as someone suggests that Keith might’ve ‘run away just like the foster family said he did’, Shiro finds himself joining in the search as well. He carries the blanket with him, a simmering frustration building beneath the concern of Keith’s disappearance.

_He can’t have run. Not with a broken leg. Security would’ve noticed him leave. He wouldn’t have ‘run’ to the games room – that’s probably locked at this hour anyways. He wouldn’t have ‘run’ to another floor, else someone surely would’ve reported him showing up there by now._

If Keith decided to run – in spite of the pain it would cause him, and in spite of the trouble it would get him into – then something must have spooked him.

In other words, Keith ‘ran’ so that he could hide.

Shiro doesn’t know why, but he’s pulled to follow the exit signs. It seems like some cliché survival thing – look for the waypoints that clearly read ‘escape’ or ‘exit’. He ends up back outside, back out in the night air. The fireworks start going off as he steps out onto the rooftop gardens and he jumps.

Cheers sound from house parties and distantly from the town. Fireworks light up the sky. It would be nice to stand here and watch them, but Shiro’s not a fan of the booming or the crackling. He’s also not a fan of the apprehension Keith’s being missing is giving him, or the worry that’s been following him around all afternoon in regard to Keith’s personal security (or lack of).

He looks around. There’s no Keith out here.

And then he sees it – the end of a crutch peeking out at the edge of the garden hedge.

Shiro’s heart twists. Dread numbs all other feeling.

When he rounds the garden, he sees him then. Keith raises his head as Shiro steps closer. He lets it drop again as Shiro’s shadow falls over his own, cast from a light shining in a different direction.

Keith’s eyes are locked on Shiro’s, gleaming with fear.

“Why’re you out here?” Shiro asks, bewildered.

Another set of fireworks go off. Keith’s breathing stutters. His fingers curl into the bark he’s lying on. Shiro crouches down and spreads the blanket he’s carrying out over Keith’s body.

“Th-they’re not here, are they?” Keith forces out.

Shiro tries to soften his expression. “No. No, they’re not here.”

Keith sags into the garden even more, though the ground’s already holding all his weight. “’kay.”

Slowly, unsure, Shiro reaches out a hand a gently lays it on Keith’s good leg. “Why are you out here, though, Keith? What happened?”

Keith swallows. A particularly loud _bang_ of firework makes him flinch. “I was…I’m sc’…afraid.”

“Of the fireworks?” _Surely it can’t be, because if it’s that, then why’s he outside where the fireworks are even louder?_

“It’s the perfect opportunity, isn’t it?” Keith says weakly. He closes his eyes. “I-if they wanted to try something, now would be a good opportunity. All they gotta do is come up here with a g’…a gun…”

Shiro’s stomach churns. It takes him a moment for Keith’s thought processes to properly connect. The fireworks exploding and sounding like gunfire echoing in the night are a convenient prompt.

“There’s security here,” is all Shiro can think to say. “Those people who did this to you can’t get to you.”

Keith lets out a sharp breath. “You don’t know that, though. I didn’t know tha-that they’d push me off that cliff. I didn’t know that’s what we stopped at the lookout for – s-so they could push me.” He shifts a little and grimaces at the pain the movement must bring. “No one believes me. They haven’t given me the chance to speak to believe me. They all just think I ran away. They all just think what _they_ told me. If _they_ came through the hospital doors right now, would anyone stop them? No, they’d just think it’s my foster family here to see me. If _they_ looked angry, they’d think they’re on their way to give me a lecture for running away.”

A distressed cry. “No one… no one ever listens.”

Footsteps hurry over.

“It’s just one of the nurses,” Shiro reassures after checking. “It’s okay.”

Keith cracks his eyes open. There’s so much pain his gaze, so much stress, and it’s more emotional than it is physically drawn.

_“It’s okay,”_ Shiro just told him. No. Keith’s not okay.

The nurse doesn’t ask why he’s lying in the garden. She scolds him for disrupting his healing, for risking further injuring himself. She asks why he did it, but it’s rhetorical.

She doesn’t understand why he protests when he’s moved out of his hiding spot. She and the other nurse who comes carrying a stretcher ignore Keith’s panicked cries. Dismiss the fear in his tone, in his tensed up body language, in his quickened breathing and in the scared look in his eyes.

The only thing Keith’s not denied is the blanket Shiro brought for him.

Keith’s carried back to his room. Checked over again for further injuries. Scolded again. Thoroughly ignored when he tries to make his distress known. Shiro hears it all from outside the room until Keith’s panic gives way under the sedative he’s put under.

The nurses start talking about high monitoring, and restrictions.

Shiro’s intervening before he realises it. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The nurses exchange a look between them. “He needs supervision,” one of them explains slowly, in an artificially grave tone that says that Shiro can try argue all he wants but this is how they are just going to have to go about things.

Argue is what Shiro’s going to do. “That’s not going to help the situation.”

“He’s at risk of hurting himself.”

“You think keeping him cooped up in there is going to do him any good?”

The other nurse presses her lips together. She fixes Shiro with a tired stare. “He’ll be fine. All he needs is –”

“How can you say he’ll be fine when he’s obviously terrified?”

“All he needs is time to settle down and recover.”

Shiro can feel his own past hospital stay distress rising to the surface. “You expect Keith to fine with being watched by strangers twenty-four seven?”

“It’s a hospital, sir. It’s for his own safety.”

“If this felt like safety, do you really think he’d have run off tonight? He ran off to hide because he didn’t feel safe.”

The first nurse sighs. “Look – he’s a sixteen year old kid who has discipline issues. Possible some mental health issues too, which may need looking into if this paranoia of his sticks.”

Shiro huffs out a breath of disbelief.

“In the meantime, we’ll put him on some anti-anxiety medication to calm him down and help keep him settled.”

“You’re going to drug him just because he’s afraid of something bad happening to him?”

“Anxiety is –”

“His foster family tried to kill him! That’s why he’s afraid. He’s afraid of them trying again.”

“Is that what he told you? You believe him?”

Shiro wants to be sick. This amount of invalidation is sickening. “What reason has he given you to discredit his fear?”

One of the nurses raises an eyebrow. “His foster family have told us some things about him.”

“And you believe the words of some people who don’t want him over Keith’s own words?”

“Look, sir. Keith’s not in a good state of mind. Anxiety has distorted his emotions.”

“Have you never heard of the word ‘trauma’? Why do you all keep treating him like an unreliable narrator?”

The nurses exchange a downright exasperated sigh. “This conversation isn’t getting us anywhere,” says the second nurse.

They leave.

Shiro’s left standing there, furious. He can see where they’re coming from, he can, but this is…

He wants to punch the wall. He wants to take Keith away from here. He wants to shout all the reasons why Keith should be listened to and treated fairly, shout it all with all the wrecked emotions he’s feeling right now until it echoes off all the corridor walls. Maybe he would raise his voice, if it didn’t disturb the other patients around here. If it didn’t make him a Bad Person, or a risk of another thing for Keith to be distressed about when he wakes.

On the way back to the car, Shiro tries to process what he’s feeling. Tries to process how indescribably upset he is. He’s scared for Keith. Infuriated that people who should be helping him are outright invalidating him.

And feeling… _something…_ about the way they’re righting off Keith’s earnest and all-consuming fear.

That something feels like burning, twisted rage.

It makes Shiro nauseous.

His blood is brimming with nervous and angry tension when he gets into the car. He slams the door shut way harder than usual. Jams the keys in the ignition. Rips the seatbelt across himself and stabs it at the thing until it finally clicks in place.

_Calm down,_ he tries to tell himself. _Slow your breathing. Take a moment. You can’t drive like this. You can’t…_

Shiro curls one hand into a fist and slams it down onto his thigh.

A frustrated, hysterical laugh. There’s zero humour in it.

_I can’t leave Keith in a place like this._

It feels like watching Keith be pulled from his arms, laid out on the stretcher and loaded into the ambulance. Like watching that ambulance take off and disappear around the corner of the road, while Shiro sits there, stays there, traces of dried blood blending into the black of his leather riding jacket.

His arms empty. His heart empty. His mind empty.

Shiro can’t remember the last time he ever felt so lost.

He slumps back against the driver’s seat, exhausted. He raises a hand to his forehead, curls his fingers into his hair. He feels the weight of the phone in his pocket. Takes it out. Sees it’s one thirty in the morning. It’s New Years’ Day now. Most people who have been celebrating the New Year turning over will probably be heading off to bed soon.

He glances out the window, up at the line of hospital windows on the floor he was just up at. He thinks he knows which one is Keith’s. Shiro thinks about the still form lying exhausted and sedated beneath the second hand blanket Shiro brought him.

Shiro looks back at his phone.

_“If you need to get in touch with me, do so. If something’s urgent, call me directly.”_

Shiro dials the number. He’s stricken with guilt and stress. After a few rings, the phone picks up.

“Hello, Colleen Holt speaking.”

“Hi. It’s Shiro. Um, as in… Takashi Shirogane. I’m the guy w-who found Keith on the road the other week.”

A rustling on the other end of the phone. “Yes. Is something the matter?”

Shiro wishes he could keep his voice as controlled as Colleen does. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

He tells her – about Keith’s disappearance, about finding him hiding collapsed in the shadows of the garden. About his cries, his desperation, how he shook and clung to Shiro when the nurses went to pull him away. About Keith’s fear. About how real it felt and sounded.

About the nurses’ proposed plans of how to deal with Keith’s distress.

The other end of the line is quiet as Colleen takes in what Shiro’s told her.

“Shiro,” she says after a moment. “I’m thinking you are right in saying that something needs to be done about this situation. By the sounds of it, the sooner the better, though I can’t guarantee anything.” A sigh. “Are you available to meet me in the hospital foyer tomorrow morning? Today, that actually is, I suppose.”

“Yeah. Yes, I can do that.” He won’t be all that pleasant a face to look at, considering the late hour it already is and the fact that Shiro probably isn’t going to get much sleep when he gets home tonight. “What time?”

“Does eleven suit you fine?”

“That’s fine.”

“Okay,” Colleen says. “Then I’ll see you then.”

After mumbling a reply, Shiro takes the phone away from his ear. Before the call ends, Shiro thinks he hears a pen scribbling notes in the background.

As he turns the key in the ignition at last, Shiro hopes - prays - that pen scribbling is the sound of a solution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith won't have to stay in that hospital situation much longer, I promise.
> 
> Don't worry, he's gonna get the hugs and comfort he needs and deserves /real/ soon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: *goes to write* ….*brain fog*  
> [Two weeks of that later]  
> *tries a different approach* ….*words finally happen*  
> me: heh, finally got past you, brain fog monster
> 
> Thanks so much for your comments and kudos on this fic!

Fireworks and fear.

\---

Forced sedation.

\---

Keith’s paralysed in anxiety when he wakes. His body feels heavy with the effects of the sedation. His chest feels heavy with the realisation that he is alone in understanding his fear. So utterly alone.

_There’s Shiro,_ he remembers. He blinks up at the dotted ceiling tiles. _But Shiro already did his part. He called the ambulance when he found me. It’s already excessive of him to come here to visit._

Why Shiro was there on the hospital roof with him last night, he’s not sure. He hadn’t had the chance to ask. The nurses had ripped them apart and made Keith sleep before he could. Thinking about it – about that slightest degree _safer_ he’d felt having someone trustworthy enough with him while those fireworks were going _BANG_ – Keith curls his fingers into the brown blanket covering him.

Uncurls them. Curls them again. Repeats. It’s the only freedom of movement he’s allowed without question.

_Did Shiro come here just to give me this blanket?_ He must’ve, since this isn’t a hospital blanket. But why on earth had he come at such a late hour?

Keith’s mind is stopped by the brain fog of the medication he’s been put on. He guesses that if it’s important, he’ll find out later. For now, he’s not exactly being allowed the space to think.

Maybe that’s for the best.

There’s a nurse sitting in the room. She hasn’t left since she got here. There was another one before that, sitting in that same chair. There’ll probably be another coming in soon, to relieve the lady currently ‘supervising’ Keith. He hates the constant watch, and he hates the fact that these ignorant people are taking the seat of someone who had sat there yesterday who had _listened._

He tries not to think too hard about how much he feels imprisoned.  
  


When food comes, Keith doesn’t eat. He gets scolded for it. He still doesn’t eat.

When he’s asked if he wants to go to the bathroom, he doesn’t respond. He does, but he doesn’t want these strangers touching him. Doesn’t want them watching him while he goes. They say they won’t be looking, that they’ll just be supporting him, but for all it’s worth they may as well be.

The result is that Keith comes very close to just letting himself wet the bed. But that would mean being touched more, being scolded more, having to go through the hassle of having his pants changed – which would require having to wrestle with getting the fabric over his cast-encased leg…

(It’s the only time he gives in to what the nurses are saying. The tempting alternative is not worth the aftermath.)

A doctor comes in. Keith refuses to talk. He won’t be listened to anyway.

When a nurse threatens to take his blanket Shiro gave him, he –

“Is it common practice to threaten a patient here”

Keith’s breath catches in his throat. The police woman is here again. Nervousness floods him. He’s going to be questioned. He doesn’t want to be questioned. He doesn’t know. He isn’t listened to. He doesn’t –

The nurse stands. She clutches her hands in front of her, fingers twitching. “It’s not a threat, ma’am. We’re just trying to – ”

“Are you aware that gaslighting is a form of emotional abuse?”

The nurse blinks.

The police woman clicks the pen she has in one hand.

Keith watches the exchange blankly. Is… the police lady _standing up for him?_

“I’ve been made aware of some concerning behaviours going on here,” Officer Holt says. Her gaze is steely, even with how tired she looks.

“Ah, yes.” The nurse nods hastily. She gestures towards Keith. “We’ve had some trouble –”

“I’m not talking about Keith.”

Officer Holt takes a step forward. She’s further in the room now, only another couple of steps away from where the nurse is standing. Where she stands is also at the foot of Keith’s bed. From there, she turns and surveys the room. Eyes the equipment Keith’s hooked up to. Carefully assesses Keith’s face. Her gaze then sweeps along both sides of the railing, then flicks to each of Keith’s wrists.

The nurse catches on to what Officer Holt is checking for. “He _has_ caused a fair bit of stress for us, but fortunately we haven’t had to use any restraints.”

_Click._ Officer Holt raises an eyebrow and points sharply at the IV bags. “What’s that?”

“I-I’m sure you’re aware of what that is, ma’am.”

“Oh, yes. I’m well aware. Fluids containing what can be classified in this case as chemical restraints.”

The nurse’s brow furrows.

“I have received reports from different sources that sedatives were used last night, and have continued being used throughout the course of the morning.”

“It’s part of our procedure to – ”

“Ma’am, my argument is not with you in particular. But neither you nor any of the other staff who have had a part in the poor treatment of this patient can change my mind on what I see happening here. Today is New Years’, but that doesn’t mean me and my colleagues are off work. Public holiday or not, we’ll be looking into this as of today. Expect to be contacted at some stage.”

The nurse looks stressed now. “I don’t understand. Poor treatment? I think you don’t understand the situation as it really is, ma’am. With all due respect.”

Officer Holt grunts. “With all due respect, _ma’am,_ I deem your ignorance a danger to Keith Kogane. Neglect is abusive. You are harming a patient who was brought to you in a critical condition. You are using unnecessary measures to unnecessarily pacify a person who has the right to be experiencing _fear_ after a traumatic experience. For such reasons, I am having Keith Kogane removed from the ‘care’ of this hospital.”

“You can’t – ”

“I have the authority to. You lot are compromising his healing.”

“If we what we are doing to help is unsatisfactory, then we can have him transferred to another hospital.”

“Considering the current circumstances, that will not be happening.”

“Then where do you plan to move him? While we could discharge him, his foster parents aren’t able to take him back.”

“It is none of your personal concern.”

“As someone who works here, it is.”

“If you were really concerned, you wouldn’t be treating him the way you have been.”

Keith zones out to whatever happens next. He doesn’t really comprehend what’s happening. Why is Officer Holt here, exactly? Why is she… _she just validated my suffering…and said…what did she say about getting me out of here?_

It doesn’t make sense to him. Not even when the police woman returns with a change of clothes that aren’t his, but also aren’t the hospital’s. The nurse on Keith surveillance duty has to help him change. Her hands are noticeably shaky as she removes the IV needle from Keith’s hand. As soon as Keith’s in non-hospital clothes, the nurse is shooed out of the room.

This time Officer Holt stands in the room. She’s not on voluntary Keith surveillance duty. She’s on security duty.

Keith sits propped up on the hospital bed. His ribs hurt from the changing clothes. He grips the brown blanket uncertainly. “What’s going on?”

His voice sounds so wrong. It’s too loud, too forced…too anxious.

“Shiro came by here last night, yeah?” Officer Holt says. “Said he was concerned the fireworks might upset you, hence why he came at such a late hour.” She sighs. “I’ve talked to his partner, and I believe the intent to be genuine. _Anyways,_ I received a rather…disturbing, shall I call it, uh, _report_ of how the staff here responded to your situation last night. It’s come to my attention that it is not good to leave you in their hands.”

Keith doesn’t know how to react. “But I don’t… I don’t have anywhere to go.” A horrifying thought strikes him. “Y-you’re not gonna send me back to _them,_ are you? To my foster family?”

“Definitely not. And don’t worry about that, we’re…currently in the process of sorting that out. I actually came here to talk to you about it.”

With one last watchful glance out the door, the police woman drags the chair away from the Keith Surveillance Spot. She sits where she can keep an eye on what’s happening out in the corridor. With that in her periphery, she fixes her gaze on Keith.

Keith unconsciously draws the blanket closer to himself.

“How do you feel about Shiro?”

“…I thought… why are you asking me about…?”

“Are you meaning what that has to do with getting out of here?”

Keith blinks. The question isn’t rhetorical. His confusion is being allowed. He’s being reassured, in that he’s been given the opportunity to express his confusion and that said confusion will be cleared up.

He nods.

“Hmm, let me rephrase that: how do you feel about going to live with Shiro? I was going to wait until I heard your answer to the first question to ask this one, but it’s this question I need your thoughts on in particular anyway.”

Keith doesn’t really hear the second sentence. He’s still trying to process the question. How does he feel about Shiro? Shiro…seems like a good person? He’s the only one who’s actually _listened_ and believed what Keith’s been trying to say.

How does he feel about going to live with him, though…?

“If you’re not comfortable with the idea,” Officer Holt says, “that’s okay. We’ll still make sure you’re discharged from here today. Whether you are okay with Shiro becoming your guardian or not, at least in the meantime, that’s not going to affect that.

“To help you with this decision, I’ll give you some more information. Shiro lives with his partner. It’s just the two of them. I’ve talked with Adam, and he seems to be on the same page as Shiro in terms of their concerned regard for your wellbeing here. They both have had background checks, and each of them have good references. Both of them work, however we’ll have to agree to some arrangement so that one of them can be around for you.

“This is,” she says slower, and she looks Keith directly in the eye when she says, “provided that you’re comfortable with this set up in the first place. You are not expected to say yes if you’re not okay with it. Okay?”

It feels like culture shock. He’s being given a choice. A choice in which he isn’t being threatened or coerced to pick some ‘favourable’ side. He’s sixteen – won’t be seventeen till almost the end of this new year; they could force him to go where they think he’s better off going to.

But no. It’s Keith’s decision.

It causes some sort of panic within him, subdued only by the lingering effects of the sedative.

It makes him nauseous. It makes him unsettled.

Officer Holt is patient. She doesn’t press him for an answer.

Keith feels like he’s going into shock.

_I need to answer her question. I need to think about what I think about going to Shiro’s and living there…_

But he can’t think. His mind’s blank. He’s too scared to know what’ll happen to him if he says ‘no’. He’s inclined to say ‘yes’, but what if that’s the wrong choice? What if Shiro decides he doesn’t want him, and decides to throw him off a cliff like his foster family did?

Keith remembers the roof top last night. How scared he’d been when he’d heard footsteps. He’d been waiting, dreading, the hands that would either take his life or drag him away back to his room. Instead the hands covered him with a blanket that he’s allowed to keep, allowed to keep hiding in if he wants. Those hands belonging to an apparently good person who is gentle, and listens, and keeps promises, and actually cares – Keith knows because he read it in Shiro’s expression – unlike everyone else.

He grips the blanket tightly. The bruised skin on the back of one hand hurts where the IV just was.

And then, in answer to the police woman’s question: “I think I’d like that.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter update!!!!
> 
> Apologies for the hiatus. It’s been a hhhhh last few/several months, and I've been spending time working on original story stuff lately! 
> 
> Also -- this part of the fic (this chapter, as well as the next one or two, probably) has a similar playing out of scenes as a part of that original story I've been working on. I didn’t want to accidentally mix up characterisation between the two, or make it feel like I was rewriting those original story chapters again.
> 
> Anyways, here’s an update! Updates should hopefully be a bit more regular after this similar set of chapters. Thanks for waiting!

A couple of phone calls, various scribbles on various papers and a wheel chair ride later, Keith’s officially discharged from the hospital. It’s late afternoon now, but at least he doesn’t have to spend another night here.

Leaving the confines of the building is a relief, but the open space makes him feel vulnerable. There’s many people milling about – visitors, staff, and patients. A courier person. Strangers, glancing at him with indifferent looks. Anyone of them could be a foster sister or parent in disguise.

Keith wraps the blanket around him and hides in it like it’s a cloak. He feels stupid doing it, but it’s _his_ blanket – the one Shiro gave him – and it makes him feel less exposed.

Also less fidgety.

Marginally less anxious.

It’s not exactly cold outside, though – quite the opposite, actually – so it’s only a matter of time before he’s shedding the disguise again.

_At least the summer air out here is fresh,_ Keith thinks numbly. Inside the hospital it’s cooler, but it’s also stagnant. Neutral. Perhaps too stable. Move too much or get distressed and it gets somewhat suffocating.

Keith grips the blanket in his hands. _Not inside there anymore. Don’t think about it._

Instead he focuses on the presence of Officer Colleen Holt walking beside him – on the steady, alert pace she walks with, and on the easy way she scans the carpark they head out into. Maybe he can absorb some of her calm if he concentrates on it long enough.

(That thought is lost to the anxiety that has him internally reeling.)

Fortunately, nothing comes of the impending sense of danger. As they walk, they aren’t confronted. The nurse pushing the wheelchair Keith is sitting in doesn’t suddenly turn him around and make him go back inside. None of the people outside or sitting in their cars turn out to be people who tried to rid Keith from their lives.

There’s only one person waiting for him, and it’s Shiro.

Shiro, who’s frowning across the carpark, distracted. So deep in thought that he doesn’t see the party of three coming until they’re only a few metres away.

With a quick breath, Shiro regains his composure. “Hey, Keith! Officer Holt.” He nods at the nurse he doesn’t know the name of.

Shiro doesn’t tag any “ _how are you doing?”_ on the end for Keith to answer, and Keith’s grateful for it. He doesn’t have the energy for it. He doesn’t have the emotional space – safety – around him to answer it truthfully.

Officer Holt hands Shiro a wad of paperwork. “Legal stuff’s all in here. Your copy, so keep a hold of it. You have my number, so call me if anything comes up.”

The nurse clears his throat. “Or if the matter’s medically related, call the local doctor Keith has been assigned for check-ups to.”

“Or that,” Officer Holt says. “Otherwise, I’ll be in contact with you both soon. Make sure things are going okay.”

When she says both, she means both Shiro and Keith. It’s not just about asking Shiro if Keith’s settling in alright. It’s about making sure that Keith is okay, too. Genuinely okay.

Keith feels a little more at ease. Tension stays locked in his shoulders, however. Anticipating _something_ to go wrong at some point. He doesn’t trust that it’ll as simple as going to Shiro’s and being okay from there on out. Not that he’s doubting Shiro – no, Shiro hasn’t given him any real reason to doubt him.

But his foster family have. Or rather, his foster family have given Keith a reason to not get his hopes up, and not to trust so easily. They’ve warned him that he ought to stay on guard, just in case Shiro turns out to be someone like them also.

Shiro seems nice. Keith could fall for it.

What if Shiro asked him if he wanted to go for a day trip somewhere once Keith’s injuries are more healed, and that daytrip takes them driving through windy roads through hills…and maybe there’s a nice view on one of the roads, and they pull over to have a look, and then Keith feels a hand on his back that pushes him over the edge and now he’s falling and then –

Keith’s eyes focus back on the scene in front of him. He takes a deep breath, as much as his injured ribs will allow him.

No one seems to have noticed the bad zoning out.

He swallows down the anxiety and mentally hisses at it. He’s had enough anxiety-terror-helplessness-distress over the last however many days. He really doesn’t want any more.

“Alright then,” Officer Holt says. “I’ll leave you to it. Keith, my number’s on that business card on the front of the paperwork. Call me if you feel unsafe or if you’re unsure about anything.”

Keith nods. He doesn’t have a cell phone, but maybe Shiro will let him use his. Or else there might be a home phone he’s allowed to use. Or a payphone, if Keith can somehow obtain the coins for it.

_Worst comes to worst, there’s probably an office address or something on that business card._ He’ll run away on a broken leg if he has to. As long as he could at least get to the police station where Colleen Holt works at, then he might be okay.

_But what if they don’t believe me? What if Officer Holt isn’t there, and she’s out on duty or patrol or it’s her day off or something?_

Keith inwardly groans. _Stop it, brain!_

Whatever the new living circumstances bring, the next few days or weeks are likely going to have a lot of this anxiousness to work through. The aftermath of traumatic experiences are like that, apparently – as Keith’s so currently realising now.

Shiro opens the passenger side door for him, an open gesture for him to take the front seat. Keith doesn’t move for a few seconds, the invitation not quite registering. But then the nurse is helping him up, and Keith doesn’t have time to protest with his mild confusion. He clambers out of the wheelchair and the nurse helps him transfer to sitting in the car.

He exhales sharply at the stab of pain in his ribs. He sinks into the seat with a tired, detached sigh.

The front seat. _Well, this is new._

Outside, Officer Holt and the nurse turn and head back towards the hospital with the wheelchair.

“You alright?” Shiro asks, hoping in the driver’s seat.

Keith stares out the windscreen, feeling displaced. He draws the blanket a little closer to himself. “I’m just not used to sitting in the front.” He doesn’t mention the anxiety lingering at the back of his mind. _Lingering in his whole nervous system, more like._

Shiro glances over at him. “Oh?”

“I usually sit in the back,” Keith explains. “Not allowed in the front seat.”

“May I ask why? I mean, it’s like you’re not old enough to.”

“’Cause someone else is usually sitting here?” _And they didn’t like it when I asked for a ride anywhere, so there wasn’t any situation where it was just me and whoever in the car._

Shiro blinks. “Oh, well…” He clears his throat. “There’s no one sitting here now – except for you. The front was kind of reserved for you.”

“Still. No one’s in the back seat, either. I could’ve sat there instead.”

“…you have more leg room up here, though. You know, since your leg isn’t in the best shape right now. It might appreciate the extra space. Your leg, that is.” Shiro offers an awkward smile. “It’s also easier to talk with if you’re beside me as opposed to behind, you know?”

Keith’s too distracted by this display of (seemingly) genuine kindness to notice the furrow in Shiro’s brow. The uneasiness in that smile of his.

“But if you’d rather sit in the back – if it makes you uncomfortable sitting here in the front – it’s okay to.”

“No,” Keith murmurs, looking away. “It’s fine.” Belatedly, he adds, “Thanks, though.”

Shiro hums. “All good.” He puts the keys in the ignition, then twists in his seat. He reaches behind them both to put the paperwork on the back seat. Turning back around again, he lets out a sigh. “Alright then, let’s head home now, shall we?”

Seatbelts on, and Keith holding the diagonal part a fraction away from his body to avoid it pressing against his chest, they leave.

As they pull out, Shiro notices Keith distracting himself with watching the hospital carpark scenery go by slowly. In his peripheral, he might be watching Shiro too. Between checking mirrors, being careful as he goes, Shiro keeps an eye on Keith, too.

Keith is flighty, understandably. While the hospital mentioned this and that about Keith’s physical hurts, what Shiro’s more so concerned about are the psychological and emotional ones. Shiro’s nervous about the fact that he doesn’t know exactly how to handle that part of Keith’s healing.

Shiro’s not a therapist. He’s not an older brother, and he most certainly hasn’t ever been a father before. He’s not the counselling personality type, either – at least, not the extent that he perhaps would like to be.

Providing a shelter and company for Keith is one thing. Being able to support Keith emotionally…in the post traumatic experience recovery sense, and without crossing boundary lines that Keith might have that Shiro has no idea of…that is another.

What strain will it put on Shiro? And what of Shiro and Adam’s relationship?

_No – while that’s a valid and okay thing to worry about, it’s not the most important one right now. What’s important is considering the strain that all this is, or may, put on Keith._

One day at a time. For today, one hour at a time.

That’s all they can do for now. Until they learn how best to interact with each other, it’ll just be one step at a time.

Shiro just really hopes he doesn’t screw up.

They pull up to the traffic lights outside the hospital carpark. Cars and trucks whizz by on the main road. Shiro makes yet another glance in the rear-view mirror.

Something catches his eye.

Keith doesn’t notice it. He doesn’t notice the way Shiro’s eyes narrow as he looks in the rear-view mirror. He doesn’t realise that there’s a couple of extra mirror checks Shiro makes that aren’t simply a scan of the surrounding environment.

But the figure standing alone by a back fence, watching them, watching them…clearly, that person has noticed them.

Shiro stops himself short of turning around in his seat. Better not to make it obvious, just in case.

_Just in case what?_

The light turns green. Shiro fixes his attention back on the road and drives. After they turn out onto the main road, he throws a glance past Keith at the spot he saw the person standing at.

But this time when Shiro looks, the figure is gone.

Shiro returns his gaze to the road with a frown.

Keith turns his head, one eyebrow slightly raised.

Shiro pretends he saw nothing. The last few days have been stressful enough for Keith as it is. For Keith’s sake, Shiro doesn’t want to provoke anxiety where there might not be a real reason for it.

At least, he sure hopes there isn’t...


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update! Thank you to everyone who's left comments/kudos!

The house Shiro drives them to is, really, just another house in the city. It’s in another suburb to which the house Keith last stayed at was in. The vibes of this area are about the same. In terms of the house itself, Keith doesn’t know what impression it gives him.

Weatherboard. Blue-grey. An unmaintained garden, left to grow as it will.

Keith would like to think he’s indifferent, but the truth is he’s expecting this to be another foster home. That is, a place that never could become like a home for him. Somewhere he shouldn’t get too hopeful about.

But this is not a foster home, is it? Not technically. Those words were never passed around when this arrangement had been being discussed. Colleen Holt never referred to Shiro as a ‘foster’ someone.

Perhaps she’s aware that such a word has a negative connotation associated with it? For Keith, at least, anyways. Did she simply decide to not use that word deliberately, or is this actually a different sort of situation than moving to yet another foster home?

Keith shrugs that thought away. In any case, Shiro is a ‘guardian’ to him at present. That has to be better than the alternative.

“So this is where I live,” Shiro says, turning off the car.

_I figured,_ Keith is tempted to say.

“Also where you’ll be staying for the next…however long it ends up being, I guess. While we figure things out in the meantime, anyways.”

_However long it ends up being depends on how long it is before you want me gone – before you decide you’d rather I be sent elsewhere._

Distracted by the thought, he misses what Shiro tells him as he gets out of the car. Keith takes a deep breath and puts his hand on the car door handle.

Regardless of how long he stays here for, here is better than the hospital. It’s better than the house he lived in before. That’s his presumption, at least.

For now, that’s enough. More than enough. Probably more than he deserves.

He opens the door. It’s a struggle – or more like a pain – manoeuvring himself to get out. Once he does, injuries hurting as he does so, Keith braces himself against the car door. His blanket falls off him and becomes a heap of material on the ground.

He inwardly curses. _More effort to go through with._ With a grimace, Keith sucks in a breath and contemplates the best way to pick it up.

Before he can actually do so, however, Shiro’s bending to retrieve the blanket for him.

“I’ll carry this in for you,” Shiro says, standing up straight again. He holds out the single crutch he has in the other hand. “And here. You might want this.”

_‘This’_ not _‘these’,_ because there is only one.

Crutches. Keith will get them at the next check-up, apparently. He suspects it’s part precaution so that Keith doesn’t try run away again while he’s healing – not that Shiro thinks that, or Colleen seems to think that, but…

It’s better not to think about it.

Maybe it’s better to just think it’s because of something else, like so as not to strain his broken ribs.

Accepting the one crutch from Shiro, Keith clears his throat. “Thanks.”

This house has no front steps, unlike the last house Keith had been assigned to living in. Keith is relieved when he realises he won’t have to stress his injuries going up any. Once out of the car, he realises the walking will stress them anyway, but at least it won’t be quite so bad.

They head toward the front door. Shiro stays near to support him if he needs. Stubbornly, Keith grits his teeth and stumbles forward himself. He stops by a couple of metres away from the front door and leans against the outside wall. The injuries hurt.

He wonders how many more days it’ll be until he doesn’t hurt so much.

Shiro opens the door. It’s unlocked.

“Adam,” Shiro calls. “We’re home.”

Keith nervously – and painfully – follows Shiro inside.

It’s an easy sort of atmosphere. Unassuming. Open. Chill. At ease.

All the windows are open. Fresh outside air fills the house.

There’s no annoying buzzy little house flies. Except one, but it zips out the door just before Shiro closes it. Keith suspects there’s likely more – it’s summer, after all – but there’s a notable number of flies _less_ than that last foster place he lived at.

Shiro’s partner, who Keith supposes is the man of similar looking age to Shiro who is sitting on the couch in the living room, turns and gives a short wave.

“Hi, you must be Keith,” Adam says with a polite smile.

Keith is distracted by the TV. The TV is on, the volume at a not-so-loud level. No overly dramatic, scripted arguments sound from it. Instead, there’s just the sound of a console game’s background music. The game itself has been paused. Keith can’t help but feel like he’s being rude for interrupting.

“Yeah,” Keith murmurs.

“Nice to meet you.”

The usual reply gets stuck in Keith’s throat. There’s a high possibility that Adam and Shiro will change their minds. He should return the greeting at least, but there’s also a high possibility that Keith himself will change his mind, too.

Maybe Adam and Shiro will decide they don’t want Keith staying with them, after all.

Maybe Keith will learn that Adam and Shiro are different people to what he’d thought.

Fog slams over his mind. _No, don’t make presumptions. It’ll only make things feel worse._

Adam seems like a decent enough guy on first impression. But Keith could be wrong. Even about Shiro – he could be wrong about Shiro, too. He shouldn’t trust easily. He’s learnt that, had that lesson reinforced in his mind multiple times.

And if he’s wrong? And Adam and/or Shiro turn out to be _not that great_ people, after all? The end result would be Keith leaving, one way or another, so as long as he can find some way to safely get away, if it comes to that, then he should leave before anything like the road trip to the windy road lookout cliff happens again…

“Keith?” Shiro asks quietly. It’s asked in such a careful yet concerned tone that it snaps Keith back to what’s happening in front of him.

Adam’s staring at Keith with an unsettled air about him.

When no one says anything, Shiro clears his throat. He carries on with the introducing and orientation before the silence becomes even more stilted. “If you want to follow me, Keith, I’ll show you around.”

Keith nods.

Shiro and Adam share a look. Adam blinks, assess Shiro’s body language a moment longer and then turns back to his video game.

The first thing Shiro shows Keith is the kitchen. Where the cups and glasses are, the cutlery, the plates. The pantry – Keith dares not touch anything in there. The only thing he’ll perhaps allow himself is the jug of cold water in the fridge.

Battle sounds resume in the living room.

Shiro takes Keith down the hallway. Points out all the rooms. Navigation gets a little tricky, but by the end of it Keith has a general idea of the layout of the house. Enough to find his way to the places he needs.

One thing Keith notices is that there’s no mention of places he’s not allowed in. Just to certain – he’d rather not be caught in the wrong – he clears his throat and asks.

“So, um…is there anywhere I shouldn’t go?”

When he does, Shiro frowns. His brow creases. “What do you mean?”

“Is there any room you don’t want me going in? Or anything like that?”

“Uh…no? Not that I can think of.”

Keith takes his word for it and nods. His ears burn. “So…where do I sleep?”

He almost hesitates even asking that. He doesn’t know how to word that without it sounding like he’s entitled to a place to sleep. Of course, it’s a given that Shiro would have designated a suitable sleeping space for him already. If there were no room for him, the offer to come stay here wouldn’t have been asked.

Even if he’s to sleep on the couch, or on the floor in the living room, there’s bound to be somewhere.

“The spare room,” Shiro answers. “So you remember the couch in there? It’s a pull out bed-couch thing. Sorry, I asked Adam if he could set it up while I was out – since I forgot to do it myself before I left to come and get you – but apparently _someone_ was to engrossed in their game.”

Shiro glances in the direction of the living room with a huff.

There’s no true anger in his tone, or his expression, or his body language, but Keith finds himself tensing up. Keith shifts uncomfortably. Shiro sees this, but his interpretation is of something else.

“Sorry about that,” Shiro says. “I should have made sure to have it ready for you when you got here, then you could’ve had your own space to rest straight away. But don’t worry – I’m going to get to that right now, so if you want to, uh…you can join Adam for a bit, if you like?”

Keith doesn’t have any better idea. “Okay.”

“Don’t worry, he won’t bite. He can be awkward and stiff around strangers sometimes, though.”

_Can’t say I’m any better._

With Shiro’s reassurances, and nothing really else to do, Keith opts to head back to the living room.

There’s enough room on the couch Adam is sitting on. While Keith is reluctant to take the other side of it, Adam gestures for him to take it if he wants, so he does. It’s a relief on his body to sit – to get that weight off his leg and relieve his arms and ribs of the strain of using the crutches.

Still, Keith can’t let himself relax fully. This place is new, he doesn’t know how things are around here. He’s not sure of Adam yet – can’t be sure of anything or anyone, really.

The video game proves a good distraction from that spiralling into a terrible anxiety.

Ten minutes goes by. After finishing the round he’s playing, Adam goes back to the start screen. Keith feels a nudge of disappointment, expecting the game session to finish up there. _Maybe Adam is the sort of person who doesn’t really like people watching?_

But instead Adam gets up and fetches a second controller, which he offers Keith.

Keith is hesitant to take it. But then Adam pulls him into easy conversation, and accepting the offer then isn’t so hard.

“Have you played this game before?”

“A little. At my previous foster family’s house.”

“Were you any good?”

Keith shrugs. He winces at the sharp pain in his ribs.

“This one’s been my favourite ever since it came out,” Adam says. “Haven’t actually played it much recently ‘cause work’s been crazy. Have had a couple of weeks off of work for the New Year and whatnot, so thought now would be a good time.”

Shiro snorts as he comes back into the room. “You play that game heaps.”

“Define heaps.”

Keith clears his throat. He sets the second controller down on the couch beside him. “I think I’ll just watch.”

“You sure?” Adam says, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah. I…maybe next time.”

No one pressures Keith into playing this time. There’s a hint of disappointment in the air, but it’s soon brushed aside.

It makes it a little easier to breathe.

The rest of the afternoon is spent resting and watching Adam play his game. It’s relaxing. Keith likes watching, and it means that Keith has something to preoccupy his mind with. Even after Shiro has finished preparing the spare room for Keith, Keith finds himself comfortable enough to linger…to stay out in the living room.

_Comfortable. I dare use that word here, huh?_

That word might be more difficult to use later on. But for here, right now, as it is – injuries and strange new place and people he doesn’t really know…

For now, it seems alright.

* * *

Keith lies in bed that night. It’s quiet. No sounds of arguing, or loud voices with an argumentative tone. No TV at a volume inconsiderate of people trying to sleep. No banging and clanging of dishes.

The bed is comfortable. Keith’s ribs hurt, and because of the cast on his leg, he can’t really lie down beneath the sheets like he usually would. But fortunately that doesn’t matter so much anyway since it’s summer and the nights are warm enough not to.

Even so, Keith lies on his back with the blanket – his blanket, he’s allowed to call it his blanket – laid out over him.

He wonders if it’s safe to sleep. Will he hear all the noises of his foster family house if he closes his eyes? Will he wake up back at that house, or back at the hospital, on the other side of sleep?

He doesn’t want that.

He sighs. The pain in his ribs is becoming familiar.

Shiro said he’ll be here tomorrow. And the day after. He’d said so at dinner. A simple dinner, but somehow it tasted far from it. It was just pasta with some frozen vegetables on the side. That’s all it was.

But no, that wasn’t all that was. The vegetables actually tasted alright. The pasta wasn’t put on his plate and given to him like it was an obligation to feed him.

And he didn’t leave the table feeling hungry. He didn’t even have to worry about the tempting idea of asking for seconds – there had been more than enough on his plate to begin with.

Maybe it’s just a first day thing. Or a first week thing. Maybe, at the end of the month (if Keith even stays here that long), he’ll have different thoughts about living here, and about Shiro and about Adam.

But for now…

Keith feels relatively okay.

He stares at the ceiling a while longer, then finally lets himself close his eyes. The house stays quiet. He breathes. Nothing changes.

Sleep comes sooner that it has in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Colleen POV again in next chapter...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Here be another update!
> 
> Also, for clarification (thanks for reminding me!): I'm from NZ, where we have summer in Dec-Feb/March! Thus, New Year's is typically hot blazing sun or sunburn cloudy weather - aircon, windows, beach, outside, SUNSCREEN (or sunburn o.o;), short sleeves, jandals, prickles in the grass kinda stuff. I'm writing this fic according to Southern Hemisphere seasons, hence why Keith and Shiro are experiencing such weather!

_Earlier that evening_

Colleen signs out and heads to her car, weary. End of the day. It’s been taxing in ways she can’t put to words.

Since Takashi Shirogane called her the other night – _what night was it? Last night? Yes, it was only last night…_ things have been weird. It’s starting to mess with Colleen’s mind, and it’s then she realises how badly she needs a rest.

Usually she wouldn’t let herself get emotionally invested in her assigned duties – she can’t afford to, lest she run herself to the ground.

Colleen unlocks her car.

But Keith Kogane’s case affects her differently.

There’s no denying how anxious Keith has been. Colleen has two kids at home, and if either of them behaved like that she’d be seriously concerned. Keith’s behaviours and reactions are indeed that of someone who has experienced some kind of trauma. That kind of flightiness, anxiousness, that hesitancy to talk and that desperation to _be believed._

Maybe she’s letting herself be swayed – influenced – by her concern for her own children. She images Keith in their place. Instead of Keith, it’s Matt coming home from university over the summer break, eyes reflecting a horrible scene Colleen knows nothing of. Instead of Keith sitting there in the hospital bed, it’s Katie, and…

Colleen gives the car door a harsher yank than intended. She grimaces, hops in, and shuts the door with a little more ease.

“So what,” she mumbles aloud to herself. “So what if I end up thinking about my own children while thinking about this…?” Tilting her head back to rest on the headrest, she blinks. “Be careful not to get too invested, I tell myself, and look – here I am doing exactly what I keep telling myself not to.”

She catches sight of her face in the rear view mirror and turns her head away. Fortunately none of her colleagues are in the carpark to notice her stressed expression.

_Then again,_ she thinks wryly, _they’ve probably been seeing it all day anyways._

The truth is that she has to be invested in her work. She has to do a good job. A _good_ one, not just one for the sake of doing work.

Another truth is also that she’s human: she’s going to be formulating her own judgements about the people she encounters, and that’s going to influence her response to the situation to whatever degree she lets it.

If she’s going to mediate this situation between Keith and his foster family, then she needs to make sure she’s a neutral party. She doesn’t _know_ what the true story is – she can only suspect, based on what evidence is available at this present time.

_But there is, however, also such a thing as trusting a gut instinct when it’s there._

And at this stage, Colleen’s gut instinct favours Keith’s story.

If she’s honest to herself, she’s in fact much more inclined to believe Keith than she is to believe the statements of the family. Keith had genuine nervousness in his eyes. Whenever his foster family were mentioned, it came alight – enough times to allow Colleen to see that it isn’t the kind of nervousness born from guilt, but from fear.

…and sure – the woman, the man and the teenager all gave believable statements, but anyone practiced or skilled enough can put on an act like that, especially when it’s all three of them backing each other up.

Keith’s on his own here. One against…three, plus the hospital staff and the…whoever staff who are reluctant to give Keith’s fears a chance to be heard.

The issue that then comes from that is finding a way to prove that what Keith says the family did to him really happened. Without witnesses, it’s Keith’s word against all those peoples. And for whatever reason, no one wants to take Keith’s as the truth.

Colleen takes a deep breath and lets it out sharply. She grabs the seatbelt. Yanks it across herself. Buckles it in. Hands on the steering wheel, turns the car on. Pulls out of the carpark and drives.

_It’s just so…weird._

It’ll be daylight for another few hours. Going for a walk by herself after dinner might help clear her mind. Probably a good idea, though she can’t help but feel guilty: it’s New Years, and she’s been so busy with work she hasn’t been around to spend time with her family.

Colleen can read the disappointment in her husband’s body language and expression. It’s not a big deal, not for them. They’ve said as much. But it’s still _something_ when everyone else is spending time with family and friends doing New Year’s stuff, and Colleen’s too busy trying to manage work and the stress that comes with it.

Except that’s _kind of the thing_ : not everyone does have family and friends to spend the New Year with. Some people are busy. Some people are…not so great to be around.

For Keith, New Year’s was nothing but a day of distress. A day that is marked as a celebratory day for some, but choked with anxiety and…who knows what for Keith.

Colleen has to stop herself from thinking about it too hard.

At least that ordeal is…over, to some degree. _Or, I sure hope it is._

For now, Keith is away from that. In a hopefully better social environment.

Shiro seems like a good guy. The background check on his partner seemed fine. Staying with them seems better than the other options that Keith had available for him beforehand.

So that’s good, respectively.

But as she’s driving, the same thought that she’s been trying ignore all afternoon comes back at her: the guy she saw at the hospital earlier.

She taps her finger on the steering wheel while waiting at the last set of traffic lights on her route home. “It did seem a little suspicious,” she says aloud to herself. “The way he seemed to be watching them as they left…”

Colleen debates how serious an issue it is. She can’t be certain.

Maybe she’s just making herself paranoid. Making more work for herself. Seeing potential threats where there may be none at all.

Tomorrow’s her day off work. Perhaps she could look into it, but Colleen’s not sure if she should. She’s been working overtime of late. Mostly, it’s been this incident with Keith Kogane that arose on Christmas Eve – that’s what’s been getting to her the most. Colleen’s been busy handling that case on her own, too, since at present the case isn’t deemed ‘serious’ enough that her work partner needs to get involved as well.

Or that’s the response she’d received anyways.

She sighs.

There’s only so much time and energy she has. Right now, that’s almost depleted.

When she arrives home, she can’t hide that fact from her family. And so, after dinner and after Colleen’s returned from a shower, Matt and Katie manage to persuade everyone to a family movie night.

Colleen almost declines. But then Matt puts on the movie _Gremlins_ and it’s like all the stressful work thoughts don’t have room in her mind anymore. She gives in then, her weariness settling into her bones.

The distraction is a good one. And it’s good to feel alright enough to spend time with her family like this. This movie’s a family favourite.

She wonders if Keith would like it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Gremlins tractor theme song plays in my head as I prepare to post the fic*


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The euphoria when your brain allows you to write creative words again :'D 
> 
> I've actually had this fic update sitting at 70% done for a while now, but uni study/assignments ended up draining all my mental energy lol. So I couldn't get around to finishing it. But the semester is done and I finally have brain energy to write fic again!! Yay! I is happy! And here's an update (finally)! :D
> 
> (Btw, thanks for all your comments on the last chapter/s! I'll try reply to them later!)

_The day after New Year’s (January 2)_

Keith wakes in a daze. _How long did I sleep for? Where…?_

_Where is all the noise?_

It’s quiet. An undisturbed quiet. No sounds lurching out nowhere. No raised voices arguing in the room right next door, or echoing up the stairwell or…

_There’s not even a stairwell in this house here,_ Keith muses. The members of his foster family flick through his mind. _And they’re not here either._

Stress doesn’t creep into his muscles, or his mind. There’s a stirring of anxiety sitting restlessly waiting in the background, but Keith’s able to ignore it. The pain his body is easier to ignore, too. In fact, if he lies still and doesn’t move, it almost seems as though the pain has lessened.

As soon as he starts getting up and moving around, though…then all of that will be a different story.

But attempting to go back to sleep isn’t all that preferable, either. While it might be the perfect opportunity to – since there’s no noise and he’s comfortable and it doesn’t hurt as much to just stay here as he is –

Keith’s afraid that if he goes back to sleep, he’ll wake up somewhere else.

The hospital.

Or the foster family home, like he never left.

Maybe he’ll get up and walk out into living room only to be told he’s going back to one of those places. Maybe the police lady will be out there, or Shiro and Adam – maybe all three – waiting for Keith to come out so to deliver the news.

And then –

With a frustrated groan at himself, Keith grabs the edge of the lightweight blanket he’d slept under. He almost flings it off, perhaps would’ve done if not for his ribs.

_Slowly. Go slowly._

Eventually, painfully, Keith manages to drag himself out of bed. The crutch is leaning against the bedside table. He stares at it a few moments before reaching out and grabbing it.

Better to just get it over with.

Standing up hurts. He’s sorer than he realised. Muscle pain twinges. There’s a cramp in his uninjured leg, and a dull ache in his injured one. Keith has to remind himself that it’s technically a fractured ankle he’s dealing with, but the way the pain and the cast makes it feel, it may as well generally be a ‘broken leg’.

As long as he doesn’t put too much weight on it, it’s bearable.

More bearable than the pain in his ribs, anyways.

Once he makes it to the door, Keith takes a few deep breaths to steady himself. He doesn’t know what kind of scene he’ll find out there. It’s still quiet, but maybe Keith is in for an unpleasant surprise.

_Maybe I’ll just go to the bathroom first._

Keith gets lost on the way to the bathroom. There’s so many corners, and he can’t remember the layout of the house exactly even though Shiro showed him yesterday. Eventually he finds it, heart beating fast after nearly walking into Shiro’s room.

The last thing he wants is to get in trouble for accidentally going into places he isn’t supposed to – or at least, one of the last things.

Ignoring his reflection in the mirror while finishing up, Keith tries his best not to let his thoughts get away on him. But it’s hard. Not knowing what to expect. Echoes of his foster family’s tones of voice and expressions continuously filtering into his mind.

His hands are clammy.

Knees shaky.

Keith grimaces, wraps his fingers tight around the crutch handle and exits the bathroom.

Nearing the living room, he expects to have to socialise – or interact, in the least – with both Shiro and Adam. He’s a little nervous about it. But when he stumbles out into living room, he finds only Shiro. There’s no sight or sound of Adam. The house has a sort of lull to it that makes it seem like he isn’t here at all.

Keith breathes out slowly in relief. Shiro is fine, he thinks. But he’s unsure of Adam, and unsure of how to act when both of them are present.

It’s going to take some getting used to. If getting used to it is something he’ll be able to do.

If he’ll even be here that long.

“Morning, Keith,” Shiro says lightly.

Keith does his best to mumble a coherent reply.

Shiro is sitting at the dining room table, laptop in front of him. There’s some kind of scientific diagram on the screen, sort of in the shape of a rocket.

Before it can be considered being nosy, Keith looks away and moves to sit down in the seat opposite. He keeps an eye on Shiro’s body language as he does so, just in case there’s any signs of annoyance or ‘ _can you please sit somewhere else’._ But there’s none, so he takes it as an okay.

“Did you sleep alright?” Shiro asks.

“Um…I don’t know,” Keith replies, awkwardly sitting down. “I guess?”

Shiro watches him without judgement, only apparent concern. He hums in acknowledgment. After a moment of waiting without the conversation going any further, Shiro turns his attention back to whatever article he’s reading.

Keith shifts in his seat, trying to get comfortable without putting a strain on his ribs from his sitting position. He feels so drained. He wants to slouch. But his ribs protest, so slouching is out of the question.

He distracts himself by asking Shiro, “Is your partner not here?”

Shiro stares a moment longer at the laptop screen before looking up. “Oh, he has work today.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, he works at the canoe place on the other side of the city. They closed over the last two weeks ‘cause of the holiday period, but they’re open again as of today.”

Keith nods. He’s never been to that place, but he knows where it is. A couple of years ago, his class had planned to go there for an end-of-year excursion. But the weather had been extreme, and they’d had to cancel.

Before that, there’d been another time – when he was eight. Keith’s class got to go that time. All except for Keith. While they were likely having a great time splashing around in canoes on the river, Keith had been attending a funeral out in a field for his father.

“Hey, you okay?”

Keith blinks. He looks at Shiro, who’s watching him with some concern in his expression. “What?”

“You zoned out there.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“…is everything okay?”

Keith manages a dismissing grimace. He hums.

The scene of the funeral lingers in the back of his mind. _What fine weather it had been for something that…really wasn’t fine at all._

To distract himself, Keith asks, “What about you?”

Shiro raises his eyebrows. “Me? Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I mean – the…your work.”

“Oh, as in what do I do?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m a postman.”

Keith stares at him. Something doesn’t add up. He frowns.

“I work for a small courier company,” Shiro explains. “So I guess you could say courier man, or courier driver. But I don’t know, for whatever reason I tend to just call it ‘postman’.” He shrugs.

“Is…that a joke?”

Shiro lets out a confused laugh. “No. Why?”

_Is he still joking? Or…?_

Maybe he’s been wrong in his interpretation of body language and tone too many times now that he’s confused himself. Exposure to people speaking only in sarcastic, disgruntled tones might have done that. Maybe he just expects it now. 

Keith’s never really been good at being able to tell when people are joking, being plainly sarcastic or telling the truth. Even when he thinks he knows, he can never be sure. Somehow, even with a person like Shiro, it’s hard to decipher.

“Why did you think I was joking?” Shiro asks.

Keith’s almost too ashamed to say. He’s wrong, after all. It doesn’t matter what he thought – all that matters is that it wasn’t what he had thought it was.

And he was wrong about Shiro’s postman job being a joke, apparently.

“Keith?”

Keith doesn’t know what’s up his mind. It’s all over the place. 

“Ah!” Shiro’s expression morphs into genuine understanding. “It’s ‘cause it’s been Christmas and New Year’s, right? You’re wondering why I haven’t been working at perhaps the busiest time of the year? Is that it?”

_Ah. So that’s what seemed out of place._ Keith nods.

“Ah, yeah. About that. So…I, uh…have been off work for the last month due to…personal health reasons. Nothing bad. Just enough to need a bit of a break for a while.”

Keith furrows his brow. “Must’ve been bad enough if it made you unable to work for that time.”

Shiro smiles thinly. “I guess. But I’m better now. My doctor recommended taking the whole month off, to avoid any upsets. My boss agreed. December is a busy period, and we close over Christmas – New Year. While generally that means more work so more workers are needed, Adam was able to find a couple of students from one of the high school canoe clubs who were looking for some paid work. Since they’re there, there’s no point in trying to rush back. Foolishly rush back. May as well take a few extra weeks off, just to be on the safe side.”

_May I…ask what happened?_ Keith wants to ask, but he feels it’s too prying a question and it’s not his place to show concern in. Judging by the change in Shiro’s tone – the slight stiffness that it’s taken on – this is not something that Shiro particularly likes to talk about freely.

In other words, if Shiro wants to tell, he’ll tell. Otherwise, it’s a topic better left unspoken of.

“But I’ll be going back to work in a few days **.** I’ll have to figure how to work that in with Adam, in terms of making sure there’s someone around for you. But in the meantime, I’ll be here. And we’ll definitely figure out something that is okay with you, too, so don’t worry.”

_Okay with me, too, huh…?_

The mention of ensuring someone is around instantly feels like a threat…no, a punishment of sorts. A kind of supervision he’s earned because of his causing issues at the hospital. Supervision means that there’s someone around to make sure he doesn’t ‘run away again’.

Of course, there’s a rational part of his mind that also realises that it’s for his own safety, too – he’s injured, and the foster family that he last saw at the lookout point could be anywhere nearby. Keith clearly remembers the hand planted on his back, the pushing him toward the open space over the edge of the cliff…

Keith’s anxiety flares at the thought of them coming back to try again.

At least here with Shiro, supervision means that someone is looking out for him too.

* * *

In the late morning, someone calls. Shiro’s phone is on the table, buzzing loudly and inching further and further towards the edge. Keith pauses the movie Shiro put on for him, and waits.

_Is Shiro going to come and answer it…?_

Shiro doesn’t come. Belatedly, Keith remembers him saying he was doing washing. With a grunt, he pushes himself to his feet and stumbles over to the table. Bracing his hands on the couch, he reads the caller ID.

Colleen Holt.

Keith casts a glance at the open hallway door. Even if he called out, he doubts his voice would carry far enough. If Shiro’s outside hanging up the washing like Keith imagines he likely is, then it won’t have a chance of being heard anyways.

Looking back at the phone, Keith’s heart skips a beat. He reactively snatches up the phone just as it topples over the edge of the table.

And accidentally swipes the green accept-call button as he does so.

_Oh no, no, no – I didn’t mean to…that wasn’t supposed to happen…!_

“Hello?”

Keith flinches at the voice. _Just answer it. Tell her Shiro’s outside and that’s why you answered the phone instead of him, and you’ll go get Shiro right away –_

“Hello, Shirogane?”

“H-hello?” Keith blurts out, shoving the phone by his ear. “Sorry, it’s…Shiro’s…I’ll go get him for you.”

Before he can stumble one foot forward, Colleen’s voice halts him. “Ah, Keith? Is that you?”

Keith grabs a hold of the table with a clammy hand. “Um, yes. Yeah, it is.”

“Actually, I called because I wanted to talk with you. I just want to make sure everything’s okay at the house for you. Do you have a few minutes?”

“What about Shiro?”

“What about him?”

“A-as in, you don’t want to talk with him first about it?”

“I can check in with him later, if necessary. But more importantly, I wanted to make sure you’re feeling alright where you are.”

“Uh…okay. Yeah, uh…it’s okay – _good._ It’s good…here.”

“…is anyone in the room with you right now? All you need to answer is yes or no.”

“No.”

“Anyone in hearing range?”

“…um, no? Adam is out at work. Shiro is outside doing washing. That’s why I answered his phone. Actually that was by accident, but I was going to go and tell him that you were calling.”

“Okay.”

“Why are you asking…?” Keith asks, only for the answer to occur to him a moment later. “Oh...”

“Just making sure you’re in a space where you’re able to talk freely. Sorry, I should have asked that earlier. But in any case,…so it’s okay where you are?”

“Yeah, it’s good. Shiro is nice. Genuinely. And uh, Adam seems fine, too. I haven’t…interacted with him much, but…yeah.”

“I see. Well, that’s good to hear. It’s okay if you change your mind, though, yeah? If you find yourself feeling different about it all from what you’ve told me now of your first impressions, that’s okay. I want you to know that.”

Keith swallows. “…okay.”

“I’m aware of how it can be with people. Positive first impressions don’t always stay that way. If staying with Shiro and Adam continues to be primarily good for you over the next few days and weeks, then that’s great. But the reason I’m saying all this is because I don’t want you to feel like you have to be complacent and stress in silence if it turns out not to be so good for you.

“While I don’t think that will happen, we don’t know. It might be that you yourself don’t feel safe enough where you are – whatever the reason, please let me know if it ever gets that way, yeah? I don’t want this ending up being reminiscent of another foster family situation for you.

“You have a say in this, Keith. Your say deserves to be heard.”

Keith’s mind is blank. He’s never heard these words before.

“You still there?” Colleen asks.

“Yeah…”

“Okay. Well, that’s pretty much all I called for right now. Did you sleep alright last night?”

“…yeah.”

“That’s good. Get plenty of rest if you can – you’ll need it to recover properly.”

Keith nods. He forgets the action can’t be head.

“Alright then. I’ll give you my number – or you can get it from Shiro’s phone. Write it down and keep it with you. If anything happens, give me a call. Any time, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Maybe do that now before you forget. Got a pen and paper handy?”

There’s a stack of square notepaper on the bench that Keith remembers seeing. Using the walls and furniture to balance, Keith hobbles over to it. There’s a pencil on top of the paper.

“Yep,” Keith says as he takes the pencil. His heart beats faster as he takes some paper too.

_Should I ask Shiro first, or…?_

But Colleen’s already reading out the number. Keith shoves the thought to the side to scribble down the list of numbers she gives. She reads it out again afterwards for Keith to check. It’s correct.

With that, Colleen gives him another opportunity to say anything about how he feels about the living arrangements – to which Keith has nothing in particular to add – , then bids him a good rest of the day and hangs up.

Keith exhales slowly. His hands are clammy. He carefully sets down the pencil and the phone. When he slips the note off the benchtop, he finds his hand is shaking.

_That was…_

His mind is reeling from what Colleen said. He also feels guilty for using Shiro’s stuff without asking. But with the latter, as long as Keith is careful not to take too much, it should be fine...right?

“Did someone call?” 

Keith flinches. He hastily crumples the note in his hand and brings his arm to his side. _Couldn’t look more caught out, could I?_

“C-Colleen,” he stammers. “It was Colleen. Holt. Colleen Holt. The police officer.”

Shiro has a puzzled, concerned look on his face – at Keith’s reaction, presumably. “Oh...is everything alright?”

Keith’s mind churns for a response. As he fumbles for the right words for an adequate explanation, Shiro’s gaze lands on the crumpled piece of notepaper in Keith’s hand.

_Just tell him the truth as it is,_ he decides.

“She called…to give me her number.” Keith swallows. His mouth feels dry. “In case anything happens. Or, just to check everything’s alright. Um…”

He winces. Now he’s making it sound like he doesn’t trust Shiro – which, Shiro still being the somewhat stranger that he is, isn’t necessarily a _wrong_ thing considering Keith is staying in his house right now.

But what if Shiro gets mad, or disappointed? Or...ends up lecturing him about talking behind his back and stuff?

Shiro hardly reacts at all, though. The concern gets washed away by understanding. “Ah right. Sorry, I startled you by the way. I didn’t mean to do that?”

Keith stares. He doesn’t move. “You’re not mad?”

“About what?”

“I used your paper without asking. And answering your phone.”

“No, you’re all goods. Honestly.”

For the first time, there’s a hint of actual comprehension washing over Shiro’s face. His voice is softer too, and his reactions to Keith’s out of it reactions no longer contain the same sense of confusion.

“By the way,” Shiro says, voice light in spite of that comprehension shadowing his expression. “I was thinking – do you feel up for going to the park for a bit? Seeing as it’s a nice day out, and you’ve been stuck indoors the last week.”

Keith blinks. The park sounds nice, but… “You’re forgetting I can’t exactly walk, though.”

“Oh, we don’t have to walk. Can just find some place cool to sit in the shade or something. Preferably within broken-leg-and-crutches walking distance from wherever we park the car. I thought it might be nice to enjoy some sunshine and wind, and not four walls all around.”

“I mean…if you want to?”

“Yeah. I’m keen. But if you’d rather stay here, that’s cool too. What do you feel like?”

With the reassurance of the crumbled up piece of notepaper in his hand, Shiro’s accompaniment and a safe enough place to return to afterwards, Keith doesn’t feel so anxious. If they happened to cross paths with his foster family while out, there’s Colleen and Shiro and a shelter to go back to.

There’s no need to do hide by staying indoors here.

It doesn’t take much thought, really – the park idea.

“Sounds good,” Keith says, and he means it.

Shiro’s face light up. He gives a thumbs up.

“When are we leaving?”

“Does now sound good?”

With a small smile, Keith returns the thumbs up.


End file.
